Encounters
by Morrigan334
Summary: "He has no idea why they're playing this game over and over again. They both know how it ends." Chibs/Juice
1. Chapter 1

**Three premieres! My first SoA piece, first slash and also my first story in English. I really hope I didn't screw up completely. I'm not a native speaker, so I appreciate all kinds of constructive criticism.**

**Chibs/Juice, second and third (last) chapter will be online by tomorrow.**

**(Unfortunately) all characters belong to Kurt Sutter.**

* * *

It's always the same. A normal evening, seats at the bar are taken. Most of the guys already have had a few. The music's loud and the bass is humming through the room. Tig and Bobby have taken some girls over to the couch, the laughing of the men and the alluring voices of the girls nearly disappear in the music. Juice is sitting at the bar, his laptop lies closed on the counter, for once. He needs a little break, a little reality in contrast to the virtual stuff he's doing all day.

He downs another whiskey and closes his eyes as the alcohol burns all the way down his throat. When he opens his eyes, his vision blurs and he enjoys the effect of the alcohol he has consumed so far. He scans the room and can't help but grin, when Bobby rolls off the couch with a thud, obviously completely drunk. He looks around and finally, inevitably, his gaze comes to rest upon _him_. The grin on his face disappears. All that remains is an indefinable expression, which is returned by his counterpart. That's how it starts.

It's hard for him to avert his gaze from those brown eyes, which observe him attentively. But he does, ordering another shot, trying to look unaffected. He has no idea why they're playing this game over and over again. They both know how it ends.

He ignores him, for an hour or two. All the time he can practically feel those eyes, watching him closely and he enjoys the nervous tremble, which runs through his body. They both take more drinks. Enough to erase all concerns, but not enough to erase their memories. He always remembers when he wakes up the next morning and even if he did not, there are traces on his body, which can't be removed so easily.

He provokes him, that's what he always does. The realization that he can make him loose his temper is much too appealing. He can feel the tension, building between the two of them during these hours. He knows exactly what he's doing, when he leans forward a little more than necessary, to grab a fresh bottle of beer. Just far enough to strip a little piece of the bronze-colored skin on his back. Sometimes he gets up the nerve to pull one of the girls onto his lap. While he's kissing her, he looks over her shoulder directly into the brown eyes of the Scot, who's trying to control his anger. His furious eyes give him away. Juice knows how much the other man tries to remain calm, and he enjoys it. He also knows that he'll have to pay for his little show later and the thought is frightening and exciting at the same time. The trembling intensifies.

So do their looks, if that's possible at all. Juice can't believe that the other guys don't seem to notice what's going on between him and the older man. But obviously they're all too occupied with drinks and girls to notice what happens.

Eventually the tension becomes almost unbearable. One of them rises. Most of the time it's Juice. As hard as he tries to remain unaffected. He really tries, but his self control is erased when it comes to this particular man. The man who's now following him in a proper distance to the back of the clubhouse. The respectable behavior is forgotten as soon as they are in a private place.

Juice gasps when the older man pushes him hard against the next wall. The trembling gets worse and he's glad that he can lean against the wall. His legs wouldn't trust his legs to work properly right now. But actually they don't have to, because he's trapped between the wall and the tall, tense body of the other man. They don't talk. A rough hand finds its way to his neck and the lips of the Scot are crushing down on his.

What happens after that is still a little mysterious to Juice. Of course he knows what happens, he's part of it after all. But it would be easier for him if he would be just a passive participant.

Yet it's _his_ hands, ripping up the other man's shirt. It's _his_ teeth, leaving marks on the other man's neck. And it's _his_ mouth, from which sounds escape Juice didn't even know they existed.

That he is as active as the older man, that he gives as much as he gets and that he actually likes it very, very much is destroying his world view. Even after all the time their little game has been going on now, after all these months.

Like he thought earlier, the Scot didn't like his show with the brunette at the bar. They never talk about what happens between them, but Chibs is obviously jealous and his possessive behavior proves to Juice that whatever this is, it is not just meaningless sex.

Tonight the older man is particularly furious. Juice doesn't know yet how to explain the bleeding cut on his cheek and the bruises on his face, not to mention his labored motions and the painful face when he has to sit down tomorrow. But he knows that next time, he'll do it again. Nothing else is giving him an adrenalin rush like provoking the other man and awaiting the consequences. Some nights they beat the shit out of each other. They're both Sons after all and as much as Juice enjoys a furious Chibs, he wouldn't give up without a little resistance. But it's all part of the game and they'll both find new excuses to tell when someone asks them about their bruises.

Juice wouldn't want it any other way even if it was only for that short moment. The short moment when the man behind him looses his self control and surrenders to this indescribable feeling. The moment when Chibs leans against Juice, heavily breathing, and murmurs soft spoken words into his ear. Juice doesn't understand most of it, Gaelic is not his forte after all and the Scot's accent is stronger when he's in that state. But few things he does understand. And the scarcely audible "...love ya, Juicy-boy..." is enough. The Scot won't remember anyway and even if he does he dissembles.

When they've finished, they both dress. Without another word they leave the room and close the door behind them, separating. There is no tenderness, but no remorse either.

The next morning everything is business as usual. And it works for both of them. After all, they're not a couple. Even the thought of it is ridiculous. They are brothers. Sons don't fuck other men. Especially no other Sons. So why complicate it? Everything's fine. Club business, the garage, the girls. Until the next evening at the clubhouse. When it all starts again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two, Chibs POV.**

**(Unfortunately) all characters belong to Kurt Sutter.**

It's always the same. A normal evening, seats at the bar are taken. Most of the guys have already drunk much more than one beer. The music's loud and the bass is humming through the room. Chibs closes the door behind him, as he enters the room. He was out with Clay, a spontaneous meeting with the Irish. The last few days were exhausting and he's really looking forward to a free evening with enough alcohol and his brothers. Especially a particular one.

He beholds him, when he crosses the room. He's sitting at the bar, his laptop in front of him, closed for once. Obviously he needs a break from the virtual stuff he spends most of the day with.

Chibs takes a seat across from him and beckons Chucky. Shortly after that a few shots and a beer are placed in front of him. The first whiskey burns its way down his throat and he closes his eyes, enjoying the twinge. The second and third shot follow and instantly he's feeling better. Calmer. Languidly he gazes across the room. He watches Bobby and Tig, who are occupied on the couch with some girls. One of them notices his look and looks back, a question in her eyes. He refuses with a shake of his head. These girls are here every night, always available and he appreciates that fact, but tonight they're not what he needs.

When he realizes that, he downs another two shots. The slight buzzing in his head tells him that the alcohol serves his purpose. His gaze wanders around the room, searching for something. When he discovers it, his heart skips a beat, as always. Juice is looking at him, his eyes encouraging. The boyish grin on his face fades and is replaced by a different expression. Everyone else would say he looks dull, but Chibs knows better than that. He recognizes the short glint in the eyes of the younger man and it's exactly what he's hoping for.

The first eye contact is short, as always. But it's enough to know, that the game has begun.

The next few hours Juice tries to ignore him. He seems unaffected, he banters about something with Chucky and takes further drinks. They both do. At first Chibs needed the alcohol, the dutch courage, to cross that invisible line, drawn between them. He needed an explanation for his behavior after all. By now the alcohol is just an alibi, a welcomed means to calm him down and loosen him up a little bit.

He doesn't need it anymore, but it's easier like that. He always takes care not to drink too much. Enough to erase all concerns, but not enough to erase his memory. He always remembers when he wakes up the next morning and he's sure Juice does too. The traces he leaves on the other man's body are not so easily erased. It's really satisfying to know that he has marked the younger man. And he can't fight the smug grin on his face when he watches Juice moving extra carefully the next day.

The other man provokes him. He always does. He leans forward, a little bit more than necessary, to grab another bottle of beer. Far enough to show a little piece of bronze-colored skin. His mouth, closing around the bottle and the slow swallowing. Juice knows exactly what that sight does to him. Although Chibs knows that it's purpose, it's hard for him to control his anger... and his lust.

Especially when Juice pulls one of the girls onto his lap. They kiss, Chibs can see their tongues sliding around. When he tries to look away in disgust, he notices those dark eyes, directed at him. He can see the provocative grin in the eyes of the other man. Chibs really has a hard time, trying to remain calm. And Juice knows.

The tension between them is rising. Sometimes Chibs can't believe that the other guys don't seem to notice what's going on. But obviously they're too occupied with drinks and girls.

Eventually the tension becomes almost unbearable. One of them rises and Chibs is glad that most of the time Juice anticipates him. It proves to him that he's not the only one who can't resist any longer. He rises slowly. The floor starts to turn and the Scot clings to the bar so he won't stumble. He follows Juice in a proper distance. As soon as he's sure they're alone and the door is locked, the respectable behavior is forgotten.

Juice gasps, when Chibs pushes him hard against the next wall. He can feel him tremble. They look at each other, panting, until the older man can't stand it anymore. As always his hand finds its way to the other man's neck and their lips meet.

What happens after that is still a little mysterious to Chibs. He never would've thought that the pure desire to possess the younger man could overwhelm him like that.

It feels like another person has taken control and he can't do anything about it. The only thing that matters is the man in front of him. The man who always rips apart his clothes with trembling hands. The man whose teeth leave marks all over his neck. Even after all the time their little game has been going on now, after all these months, it makes him shiver.

Today it's even harder for him to let the anger about Juice's former provocation fade. The other man knows that he always has to bear the consequences later and later is now. Chibs strikes him across the face and his rings leave a bloody tear. It takes another hit until Juice finally starts to fight back. They're Sons after all. Chibs doesn't know yet how to explain the fresh bruises to his brothers tomorrow, but he'll find an excuse. They always find another one when they're asked.

Another rough shove against the shoulder, a dark growl, before their lips crush together for the second time this evening. It's all part of the game and Chibs wouldn't want it any other way. Even if it was only for that one moment. The moment when the man in front of him surrenders. When he takes off his reservations and begs him to finally take him.

That's the reason they're doing this. That's what they're looking for: oblivion, ease. And when it comes to that point of no return, Chibs can't control himself anymore. He leans against Juice, gasping, murmuring incoherent Gaelic words into his ear. Chibs won't remember what he said and he's sure Juice doesn't understand a thing anyway. Even if he does, he dissembles.

When they've finished, they both dress. Without another word they leave the room and close the door behind them, separating. There is no tenderness, but no remorse either.

The next morning everything is business as usual. And it works for both of them. After all, they're not a couple. Even the thought is ridiculous. They are brothers. Sons don't fuck other men. Especially no other Sons. So why complicate it? Everything's fine. Club business, the garage, the girls. Until the next evening at the clubhouse. When it all starts again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Last chapter! Actually it's more like an alternative ending. If you are perfectly satisfied with the first two chapters and you can do without the emotional stuff, don't read this one.  
**

**(Unfortunately) all characters belong to Kurt Sutter.**

Chibs was in control, always. He knew what to do and he did what was necessary to protect his brothers, to protect the club. He liked the fact that he was able to make his own decisions. That was one of the many reasons he'd become a Son. The feeling of helplessness was not a stranger to him, but he'd really hoped he would never have to feel it again. As he stood there, under that damned tree, holding a sobbing Juice in his arms, he couldn't help it. For the first time in ages he had no idea what to do.

Thoughts were rushing through his head and then there was the realization that only a rotten branch had kept Juice alive. If the younger man had chosen another branch, Chibs would've now been holding a corpse. His legs wouldn't carry him anymore. With a groan he broke down, pulling the crying bunch of a man with him. He crawled backwards, until he could lean against the fateful tree and pulled Juice between his legs, into his arms.

He murmured soothing words, tried to be strong, although he just wanted to curl up and cry like the man in front of him. The feeling of helplessness was making him sick. He was not sure he could stand on his own two feet right now, so he just stayed where he was. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The mess in his head was gone, but now the questions appeared and instantly he wished the chaos would return. Should he have noticed something? Why didn't he notice something? Why didn't Juice come to him?

Their last private meeting had been a few weeks ago. The stuff with the cartel was keeping the whole club busy. There had been no time for an easy evening with the boys and no possibility to disappear inconspicuously with the younger man. Chibs tried to remember. Had there been any hints? The two of them had been working together like they always did. This thing between them, which was going on for several months now, had no impact on their daily life, club business or work at the garage.

That the younger man obviously didn't trust him enough to come to him, when he had serious problems, hurt though. And clearly he was having some serious problems, otherwise Juice wouldn't have tried to hang himself. Damn, they were brothers. He trusted the other one with his life. Why didn't Juice do the same?

Chibs didn't know what to do. He was confused and tired, but they couldn't sit here all night. It was getting chilly and the ground was dank. With a sigh he gave the other man a shove.

„Get up, Juicy boy. C'mon, get up!"

The younger man stood slowly. He looked at the ground, completely gone. When he started to shake critically, Chibs took his arm to hold him up. Gradually they approached the edge of the wood, where the truck was standing on the road. Fortunately nobody had seen it and had called the club. At least that's what Chibs was hoping for.

The Scot opened the door and put Juice on the passenger seat with a little push.

The silence started to unnerve him, but he couldn't think of anything to say right now either. He didn't really know where he was driving to, until his house appeared in front of him. At least it was not the clubhouse, where it was impossible to hide something from curious eyes and ears. Well, almost impossible.

After he opened the door, he took the younger man to the couch.

"You're cold?".

A nod. He fetched a green blanket from the bedroom and threw it in Juices' direction.

Juice took it with a grateful look.

„I'm so sorry...Shit, I… I wasn't thinking...what".

The first spoken words since Chibs had found him under the tree and they weren't making him feel less stranded. The dark eyes of his brother were tired, dull. The change was probably more obvious to him than to anyone else. He really thought he'd seen all expressions those brown eyes could presume. The mischievous sparkle when he was joking with his brothers. The provoking twinkle, when he was sitting at the bar and he was driving Chibs insane with his moves.

The expression of complete devotion, when he turned his head to look at him before they lost themselves in each other. The blankness in his look was frightening Chibs and he hated it. He hated the weakness, which was making it hard to breathe.

He hated the fact that he couldn't keep his distance. During all these months there had never been something personal between them, no usual contact between two members and sometimes, when they both needed it, sex. It had never been more than that and it was enough.

That he was not able to think clearly anymore, after what happened tonight, proved to Chibs that he had been wrong. There was something between him and the younger man which transcended the brotherly affection. The mere thought of coming to late, of finding Juice cold and dead, hanging from that tree, made him sick. But now was really not the right time to become clear about his feelings for his brother.

Chibs did the only thing he was currently capable of, he operated. Juice was still stammering apologies, tears streaming down his face. At least the trembling seemed to fade. When he started to apologize again, Chibs cut him off.

„Lay down and try to get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

„Tomorrow…but the club. They're gonna vote me out. Fuck, it's over!".

He looked terrified and Chibs couldn't help but to sit down next to him and to put a hand onto Juices' shoulder.

"I'm gonna call Jax, tell him your sister has fallen ill. Don't worry, it's gonna be alright. We'll find a solution for this mess.".

Chibs had no idea what kind of solution that would be, but there was not much else to say at the moment. He rose and made his way to the bedroom. Just when he started to close the door, he heard Juices' low voice. He sounded different, the airily, sometimes naive undertone was gone.

„Why you're doing this?"

A justifiable question. Juice knew that Chibs' loyalty belonged first and foremost to the club. Hiding him in his house and helping him to cover up that mess meant cheating on the club.

Of course Chibs could have been honest now. He could've told Juice that he was more to him than just a brother and occasional lover. That he liked the voice of the younger man, the twinkle in his eyes and the sound of his laughter. That it took a chain and a god damn tree to make him realize he didn't want to live without the other man anymore.

But it was hard enough as it was right now and his inappropriate feelings would only make things even weirder. His actual answer was straightforward.

„You're my brother. I'll always have your back, no matter what."

With those last words he closed the door to his bedroom. He was sure that he wouldn't get much sleep though.

Sunlight was dripping through the curtains. Juice opened his eyes slowly and scanned the room, bemused. He was lying on a couch, the room was small and furnished. A table, two chairs, a small kitchen and a TV. At the other side of the room there were two doors. His head was pounding and his face felt sore. Had he drunk too much last night? He couldn't remember.

Juice tried to turn around and groaned when pain shot from his neck through his whole body. The stinging pain finally brought back his memory and when he realized what had happened and where he was, he caught his breath. The tree, the chain and the rotten branch. Himself, lying on the cold ground, crying and Chibs, murmuring soothing words into his ear, holding him together.

Shit! He hid his face in his hands. The sudden move caused him to fell off the couch with a thud. That thing was not made for men his size. When he tried to get up, one of the doors slammed open and the Scot stood in the doorway, with a worried expression on his face. The sudden sound made Juice jump and he landed on the floor again. His nerves obviously hadn't recovered yet.

„What's goin' on?" The voice of the older man sounded dozy and his words were scarcely audible because of the strong accent. „Nothing, I...uh... fell off the couch." Well, the embarrassment didn't seem to stop. The thought that death would have been more comfortable was crossing his mind for a second. Definitely more comfortable than the silence between him and the other man.

Chibs stared at him for a moment and tried to shake the fatigue. Than he closed the door and made his way to the small kitchen. Juice finally managed to get up and followed the Scot. Chibs turned his back to him and shoveled coffee into the machine.

„Can I use your bathroom?". Juices' voice sounded awful, rough and weak. A short nod. He crossed the living room as fast as he could and closed the bathroom door behind him with a sigh. Another small room, furnished only with what was necessary. Nothing homey or useless, characteristic for Chibs. Juice smiled at the thought, but when he became clear of his situation, the smile faded and was replaced by a desperate expression.

He couldn't hide in here forever. He remembered what Chibs had told him a few hours ago. "We'll talk tomorrow." Tomorrow was now. As soon as Juice left this room, the Scot would be waiting for him in the kitchen. Waiting for an explanation, an apology, a solution. Juice could apologize, he'd done that several times last night, but he had no solution.

The explanation was the most complicated part. This thing with Miles was in the past. And Juice could live with what he'd done to him, it was not the reason he'd tried to... be dead by now. Chibs would hate him if he told him about Miles and he was not willing to take that risk. He had to tell him something though. The fact that Chibs had taken him to his house, instead of delivering him to the club, made the younger man hope that the Scot would keep the truth about Juices' father to himself, too.

Either way, he had to go and face the older man. It was embarrassing enough that he'd acted like a hysterical child last night. He wouldn't behave like a coward now. He had to prove to himself that he was still a Son, a man.

Juice tried to get rid of the disgusting taste in his mouth. When he looked in the mirror he barely recognized himself. His face was pale, his eyes red and swollen and the chain had left purple marks on his neck.

Taking a deep breath he opened the door and walked over into the kitchen. Chibs was sitting at the table, two bowls of coffee standing in front of him. Juice avoided the other man's gaze. It was hard for him to admit it, but he was afraid. He made a face as he sat down on the chair, pain rushing through his body again. Finally he looked at the Scot and he noticed the short, amused sparkle in those brown eyes. Yeah, actually they've had these breakfast situations before.

But they weren't at the clubhouse now and the pain hadn't been caused by hard, furious sex. This time he had made a face because he'd tried to kill himself last night and he could see the same realization dripping into Chibs' mind. The sparkle disappeared and now he looked serious again. Juice knew he should've said something, but all his mind produced were further apologies.

So he waited quietly for the other man to start the conversation. He scanned the room, drank his coffee and inspected his hands. His efforts to ignore the older man caused Chibs to growl. Finally he broke the silence.

„Look at me!". His voice sounded more vital than before and the angry undertone did not escape Juices' notice. Slowly he looked up from his hands and met the brown eyes of the Scot. The expression on the other man's face was frightening. Chibs looked tired and his faced was branded with concern and pain.

Juice wanted to do something, he wanted to comfort the older man, but all he could do to help him was talk now, so that's what he did. The words were practically escaping his mouth.

„I'm so sorry. I didn't want to, but I couldn't see another way. Roosevelt's blackmailing me. He wants me to turn on the club, otherwise he threatens to tell you that... he... Shit, I'm sorry, Chibs..."

His voice cracked and he tried to hold back from crying. He was acting like a wimp, again, but he couldn't help it.

„What does Roosevelt have on ya? Damn, why didn't ya come to me instead of trying to jump from the next tree?" The disappointment in Chibs' voice hurt, but Juice knew that he didn't deserve any better.

„Roosevelt found out something about me, when he was digging into my past. My dad... he's black."

„So what?"

„The rules?! If the club finds out, they're gonna vote me out. Doesn't matter if you are my brothers..."

Now he couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He knew he was pathetic, but his self control was gone. The terrified feeling intensified. He couldn't loose the club, they were his family, the only thing that really mattered in his life. He had never belonged anywhere until he became a Son.

Chibs looked at him attentively.

„Does he have prove?"

Juice sobbed.

„A picture of my dad, his name, stuff like that."

The younger man looked up in disbelief, when the Scot suddenly started to laugh. It was not a real laugh, more like a release of pressure and tension. It didn't matter. Chibs was laughing at him. Juice could deal with a lot of shit, but after last night that was way too much. He rose angrily. The chair rattled over the floor and the panic he felt a few moments ago was now covered by anger.

„I'm glad you can laugh about that, dickhead! Why did you help me, when that's all so hilarious, huh?"

Disappointed and hurt he turned around and crossed the room fast, heading for the door. Before he could grab the doorknob, he was pulled back and turned around. The air escaped his lungs, when Chibs pushed him hard against the closed door.

„You really wonder why people think you're retarded? Idiot!". Anger was flashing in those usually so gentle brown eyes.

„You think I would laugh at you? You think I'm that numb, yeah?"

Juice didn't know what to think anymore. His brain wasn't working properly right now. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen he had last night, maybe it was the fact that it was the first time in weeks Chibs was standing so close to him. Except last night, but holding him when he was an emotional wreck didn't count. Their bodies were touching now and Juices' legs started to tremble though he couldn't explain why...or he didn't want to.

„But you...I...uh". Maybe the older man was right about him, he sounded like an idiot.

„I was laughing, because the whole thing is absurd. Roosevelt's bluffing, don't ya understand that? He's got nothing on ya. What does a picture prove? Nothing! Half of us don't even know who their fathers are. Only thing that matters is what you're ID says, you fool!"

Juice needed a moment before he realized the meaning of the words. Roosevelt had nothing on him...

„Tell that douche bag he can frame the picture if he wants to. But sure as hell he can't make you do anything. And I bet he knows that. He was hoping you would fall for his threat."

Juice couldn't control himself any longer. He started laughing hysterically and the relief which was flooding through is mind felt too good to be true. He glanced at Chibs, who was looking serious again.

„Don't ya ever do that again. If you have problems, you talk to your brothers. That's what family is about, you understand? Quit trying to jump off trees, you goddamned idiot! You would have killed yourself for nothing!"

Juice listened attentively. The pain in Chibs' voice was hard to bear, yet it surprised him. He sounded desperate and a little beyond the usual brotherly affection. The tone was raising hope somewhere in Juice. Maybe, possibly, he was more to the Scot after all than just a welcomed change.

Their arrangement had worked just fine for several months now and Juice never would've though about... becoming more. He was no fag. He liked women and he was definitely not dismissing the girls at the clubhouse. But there had been something about the other man, Juice couldn't quite explain. It captivated him, drew him in and he knew that Chibs felt the same.

It was something physical. Yet last night, when he was sitting on that tree, moments away from his final breath, something strange had happened. The memories were fresh and he relived these minutes when he was standing captured between the door and his lover. He had been thinking about his sister and his nephew, about the club, his ex- girlfriend and the mistakes he made in the 33 years of his life. And in the end there had been just Chibs.

The thought of gentle brown eyes, loud laughter and a dark voice with a Scottish accent. The thought of a man, who was driving Juice insane and who made him loose himself completely. It took a chain around his neck and a damned tree to make him realize that their arrangement had become more than just occasional sex.

He shook his head in disbelief and became aware of how close they still were. Chibs stood in front of him, one hand on Juices' shoulder, the other one braced on the door. He towered above him and looked at him, a little confused.

Somehow everything became easy. Juice didn't think anymore, he acted instinctively and hoped the older man wouldn't refuse him.

His hand found its way into the neck of the Scot and a few winks before their lips finally met Juice noticed a sparkle in those brown eyes. It reassured him.

No dutch courage, they were both sober. It was bright outside, the sun was lighting up everything. No dark room to hide their faces. No loud music or voices to cover up the sighs and moans.

Juice felt like he was hovering somewhere above the seen, looking down on himself and the other man on the floor, next to the couch.

The hope that the other man would return his feelings was obviously justified. Chibs didn't resist, when Juice pulled his shirt away. Neither did he resist, when Juices' lips left traces on his neck. Far from it, the noises he was making sounded very approving. When Juices' hands started to touch every spot of his bare skin, all restraint was forgotten.

Afterwards they lay next to each other, satisfied and completely exhausted. The events of last night and this morning were taking their toll. Neither of them was able to move right now and so it was the first time they rested together, catching their breaths.

Juice turned his head into Chibs direction and met the gaze of the Scot, watching him attentively. The brown eyes left his and came to rest on the purple marks on his neck. The painful expressions returned and Juice wanted to comfort the other man. The need to comfort one of his brother was new to him, especially Chibs, who always seemed to be so in control, so strong.

Juice wanted to make the pain go away, no matter how. He leaned forward and kissed the older man. No desperate hunger or need, no promises for more. Just tenderness and comfort. Juice tried to communicate something and obviously it worked. Chibs kissed him back, returning the soft, lazy movements. When they separated, their foreheads were touching and they remained like that, looking at each other. It was a whole new situation for both of them, but somewhere between the door and the carpet it had started to feel right.

„I'm sorry." Juice had apologized already several times, but it was important for him to show the other man that he was serious.

„Aye, I know. It's just... I was afraid last night, Juicy. I have no idea what I would've done, if I hadn't made it in time."

Juice knew how much it took the Scot to aspirate those words. It was the first time Chibs didn't even try to sound strong and controlled and it showed that Juice was right. Whatever this was, between them, it had become more than just lust and physical attraction.

As they were lying there, on the floor, Juice imagined that they could make it, somehow.


	4. Chapter 4

**I was listening to "You're The One" by Rev Theory and I just had to write this down. I should really do some university stuff, but writing is so much more fun. **

**"Encounters" was actually complete, but I think I'm gonna make it a collection of possible future one-shots. **

**Reviews always appreciated! **

**(Unfortunately) all characters belong to Kurt Sutter. **

He takes a another deep swallow from the nearly empty bottle. The alcohol burns its way down his throat and the stinging pain is amazingly comforting. In the beginning he took shots, but he got tired of refilling them every few minutes. The amber liquid in the bottle is almost gone and he makes his way back to the clubhouse, where another bottle is waiting for him.

Opening the door becomes a challenge, but luckily he's able to cope with it. He stumbles into the room, heading towards the bar. The other guys are there, they look him over with questions in their eyes. Usually it's them, getting to drunk to walk properly, not him. Usually he doesn't drink too much. Usually... the word doesn't fit anymore. A stool falls to the ground with a crack and he has to hold on to the bar, so he won't be the next on the floor.

Bobby appears behind him, he's trying to hold him up, but he slaps the helping hand away with a grunt. He doesn't want to talk anymore. If he opens his mouth, he won't be able to stop screaming. His vision blurs, but he recognizes another bottle of whiskey. In his condition it shouldn't matter which stuff to drink, but it's important to him. It has to be whiskey because it makes him feel like there's a little piece left. He tries to grab it and after two attempts he finally gets it. Only now he realizes the silence in the clubhouse.

Everyone is looking at him, worried. He snorts derisively. After all he blames them for his miserable situation. He keeps the bottle close and tries to stay on his feet, after he lets go of the bar counter. Bobby is still standing behind him, ready to help, not knowing that nothing, no one can help him. No one except that one person, who is looking at him with those dark brown eyes. He can't read the expression on the other man's face. Remorse? Pity? It doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore.

He turns around and stumbles through the clubhouse, back to the door. The bottle is already open, he takes another gulp and smiles at the pain, which is burning through his body. Only this kind of pain helps him to forget. He's almost at the door, when the newbie thwarts him. He can't even remember his name, though he voted him in, his brain is a mess. The other one is looking at him, worried.

„Hey, what's goin' on with you, bro? Talk to us!" He raises his hand to touch his shoulder, but before he can do it, Juice slaps his hand away. At the same time he strikes out and hits his new brother in the face. The smaller man staggers back, holding his hands to his broken nose. He looks at him, a little frightened now. Brown eyes. Not the ones Juice wants to see, but it's enough to bring the pain back. He beats him again and wonders how the hell he still manages to hit. Another slap, a kick until his brothers finally drag him away.

They talk to him, yell at him, but he doesn't care. There's just one face he sees, just one voice he hears, all the time. He eludes the others, stumbles, staggers and is still keeping himself from falling. The bottle is in his hand. He steps across his brother, who is laying on the floor, bleeding. Juice is also lying on the floor, also bleeding, even though no one can see it. He leaves the clubhouse and looks at the bottle tenderly. He used to hate this stuff and more than once he made jokes about the Scot, who drinks whiskey like other people drink water.

By now it's the only thing left for Juice. The last means to numb the pain. Without really noticing it, he empties the bottle and throws it against the wall with an almost triumphant cry. He turns around, laughing hysterically and freezes. There he is, the only one who could take his pain away. But he won't. They stare at each other and Juice wishes that the other man would come to him.

Pull him into a rough hug and whisper in his ear that everything's gonna be ok. That he won't let anything happen to him and that it's the two of them, against the rest, always. Juice knows that it won't happen though. Not anymore. Under the piercing look of the Scot, the impact of the alcohol starts to fade. The memories come back, the ones he's been trying to drown in whiskey for the last few weeks.

„We can't do this anymore, Juicey... the guys are becomin' suspicious. You know the rules ."

„But... we'll take care. No one has to know" The desperation increases and with it comes the realization that he's willing to go on his knees and beg.

„No, we can't take the risk. Just forget it, Juicy boy. Nothing has happened, understood?" The pain in those familiar brown eyes makes Juice believe that it's as hard for the Scot as it is for him. A last fleeting kiss, the dark voice with that thick, Scottish accent, whispering in his ear. „Take care, Juicy, yeah? Don't ya do anything stupid..."

Juice can't take it anymore. He knows he can't break down in the middle of the parking lot., so he has to go. With a last glance at the older man, Juice turns around and stumbles away, leaving the garage behind. He hates his weakness, his feelings and especially the man, who's made him that pathetic creature.

He reels around the corner, his movements are unsteady and languid. Tears are streaming down his face, but again he doesn't care. He has almost reached the end of the lot, the clubhouse disappears and suddenly he's pulled back. His head bangs against the wall and he needs a moment to understand what's going on. Chibs is standing in front of him and his eyes are burning with anger.

Why is he here? To tell him how piteous he is? To tell him that he should pull himself together? Juice doesn't want to hear his voice, he doesn't want to see his face. He shoves the other man away, but as always this doesn't go down well with Chibs. The Scot strikes him hard across the face and Juice stumbles against the wall again, unable to keep his balance.

"Are you completely out of your fuckin' mind? What did I tell ya, huh?"

Juice tries to avert his gaze, but Chibs forces him to look up. The tears start to fall again. Juice can't do anything anymore, he's a broken, sobbing mess. The anger in those brown eyes is replaced by something different. Juice is too drunk to recognize the expression, but suddenly the lips of the Scot are pressed against his own. What's this, a last goodbye? He never thought that the older man could be so cruel. He pushes him away again and speaks, though his words are scarcely audible.

"You should go, man. I don't need your pity, so...just leave me the fuck alone." It's obvious that he doesn't mean it, but it's worth a try. Chibs glares at him in disbelief.

"The whiskey already damaged your brain? You know why I'm here." He kisses the younger man again and this time Juice returns the kiss. He looses himself in the incredible feeling of the Scot's lips, moving against his. They both are breathing heavily when they separate and Juice is finally brave enough to look at the older man deliberately.

"But you told me...I..." He regrets his drinking by now, because the alcohol makes it nearly impossible to form proper sentences.

"I know what I've told ya, but obviously I can't leave ya alone, Juicy boy. I guess you would go mad..." The Scot gives him a smirk and Juice lets the words ease down. When he realizes what they mean, the tears start streaming again, but this time out of release. He can't keep himself up anymore and slips down at the wall, sobbing. Chibs sits down beside him. At last he pulls Juice into his arms and murmurs the words, Juice has missed the whole fucking time.

"Everything's gonna be ok, Juicy boy, I promise. It's you and me, aye?"


End file.
